One evening Arahan messaged her at dusk:
Arahan: Back door. 1 a.m. Wear the green saree this time, not anything underneath.
Geetanjali replied with a single voice note, breathy, recorded in the bathroom while Amma napped.
[Voice note] "I'm already wet thinking about it… come soon… I want you to fuck me until I can't stand tomorrow…"
When he arrived that night, she was waiting in the green saree, draped loosely, nothing underneath. The moment he stepped inside, she dropped to her knees in the dim kitchen light, yanked his pants down, and took him into her mouth, hungry, messy, desperate.
Arahan groaned softly, fingers tangling in her hair.
"Fuck… good girl… suck it like you've been starving all day…"
She did — sloppy and eager.
Arahan's grip tightened in Geetanjali's hair—not pulling, just holding, as her mouth worked him with desperate, wet devotion. The kitchen light cast long shadows across the tiled floor; the only sounds were her muffled moans, the slick glide of her lips, and his low, ragged breathing.
She took him deeper than before, throat relaxing inch by inch until her nose brushed his pubic bone. Tears pricked her eyes from the stretch, but she didn't pull back. She hummed around him instead, the vibration making his thighs tense.
"Goddamn, Bhabhi…" Arahan hissed, hips rocking once, shallowly. "Look at you, on your knees in your own kitchen, choking on your neighbor's cock while you mother-in-law sleeps in the next room. What would she say if she saw her 'good daughter-in-law' like this?"
Geetanjali whimpered at the words, the humiliation twisting into fresh heat between her legs. She pulled off just long enough to gasp, strings of saliva connecting her swollen lips to his glistening shaft.
"She'd think I'm still the pious daughter-in-law who lights diyas every evening," she whispered, voice wrecked. "But I'm not… I'm your dirty little secret now."
Arahan's eyes flashed dark. He stroked her cheek with his thumb, smearing her own spit across her skin.
"That's right. Your husband's sweating in the Gulf, sending money home like a good man… and here you are, dripping for the cock next door." He guided her mouth back down, slow this time, letting her feel every inch. "And tonight… I'm going to take something he's never had."
Geetanjali froze for half a second, lips still wrapped around him.
He pulled her off gently, cock bobbing wet and heavy between them.
She looked up, confused, cheeks flushed, "What… what do you mean?"
Arahan crouched until their eyes were level. His voice dropped to a filthy whisper.
"I'm going to fuck your ass tonight, Bhabhi."
Her breath caught. Her eyes widened—shock, uncertainty, a flicker of fear.
"My… ass?" she repeated softly, as if testing the word. "But… why? I've never… he never even asked…"
Arahan cupped her face with both hands now, thumbs stroking her cheekbones.
"Because this part of you belongs to me now," he said quietly, but the words were edged with possession. "Your husband left it untouched. Your saas thinks you're still pure and proper. But we both know the truth—you're already ruined for anyone else. And tonight I'm going to claim the last piece no one's ever taken."
Geetanjali's thighs pressed together instinctively. She swallowed hard.
"Will it… hurt?" Her voice was small, vulnerable.
Arahan kissed her forehead—soft, almost tender—then her lips, tasting himself on her tongue.
"A little at first," he admitted. "But I'll go slow. I'll make you ready. And when I'm finally deep inside your tight little ass, you're going to come harder than you ever have. You'll beg me to never stop."
She searched his eyes for a long moment.
Then—slowly—she nodded.
"Okay," she whispered. "I trust you… take it. Take all of me."
Arahan exhaled roughly, like the permission itself almost undid him.
He helped her to her feet, then turned her around so she faced the kitchen counter. Gently but firmly he bent her forward, palms flat on the cool granite. The green saree was already rucked up around her waist; he pushed it higher, baring her completely.
No panties. Just smooth skin, the curve of her ass, and the slick evidence of her arousal glistening between her thighs.
Arahan dropped to his knees behind her.
He spread her cheeks with both hands—gentle but unyielding—and dragged his tongue in one long, slow stripe from her dripping pussy straight up to the tight, untouched ring of her ass.
Geetanjali jolted, a shocked moan escaping her.
"Arahan—!"
"Shhh," he murmured against her skin. "Relax for me, Bhabhi. Let your gardener taste what's his."
He licked again—circling the puckered entrance now, soft wet pressure, coaxing her open. One hand slid between her legs, fingers finding her clit and rubbing slow, steady circles to keep pleasure flooding her system.
Geetanjali's arms trembled. Her forehead dropped to the counter.
"Oh god… that feels… strange… but good…"
He kept at it—licking, probing with the tip of his tongue until she was pushing back against his face, soft whimpers turning into needy moans. When she was trembling and slick everywhere, he stood.
He spat into his palm, coated his cock thoroughly, then pressed the head against her virgin entrance.
"Breathe out slowly," he instructed, voice low and steady.
Geetanjali inhaled, then exhaled shakily.
Arahan pushed—gentle, insistent pressure.
The head popped past the first ring of muscle.
Geetanjali cried out—sharp, surprised pain.
He froze instantly.
"Too much?" he asked, one hand stroking her back in long, soothing strokes.
She shook her head quickly. "No… just… burns. Keep going… slowly…"
He did.
Inch by careful inch, he sank deeper—pausing every few seconds to let her adjust, whispering filthy praise the whole time.
"So fucking tight… look at you opening for me… taking your neighbor's cock in your ass while your husband has no idea his wife is getting her virgin hole stretched right now…"
The dirty words made her clench around him involuntarily, then relax again as fresh arousal dripped down her thighs.
When he was finally buried to the hilt, balls pressed against her soaked pussy, Geetanjali let out a long, trembling moan.
"Full… so full…"
Arahan leaned over her back, lips at her ear.
"You did so good, Bhabhi. Now I'm going to fuck this perfect ass until you come screaming my name."
He started moving, slow, shallow thrusts at first, letting her feel every slide in and out. One hand stayed on her clit, rubbing in time with his rhythm. The other gripped her hip, anchoring her.
The burn faded fast, replaced by a dark, intense pleasure she'd never known.
Her moans grew louder, more desperate.
"Harder… Arahan… please… fuck my ass harder…"
He gave it to her—deeper, faster, hips snapping against her with wet, obscene slaps.
"You love this, don't you?" he growled. "Love being bent over your own kitchen counter, ass stuffed full of cock while everyone thinks you're sleeping like a good wife."
"Yes—yes—fuck—don't stop—"
Her fingers scrabbled at the counter. Her body started shaking.
"I'm—oh god—I'm going to—"
"Come for me," he commanded, thumb pressing hard on her clit. "Come with my cock buried in your virgin ass, Bhabhi. Show me how much you love being ruined."
Geetanjali shattered.
Her cry was muffled against her own arm as her whole body convulsed—pussy clenching on nothing, ass spasming around his thickness in violent waves. Fresh wetness gushed down her thighs.
Arahan thrust twice more—deep, erratic—then buried himself completely and came with a choked groan, flooding her ass with hot pulses that made her whimper at the new sensation.
He stayed inside her until the last tremor faded.
Then, slowly, carefully, he pulled out, watching his cum leak from her stretched hole.
Geetanjali sagged against the counter, legs trembling.
Arahan gathered her into his arms, turning her to face him. He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her lips, soft now, reverent.
"You okay?" he whispered.
She nodded against his chest, smiling dazedly.
"More than okay… I didn't know it could feel like that."
He held her for a long minute, both of them sweaty, spent, hearts pounding.
Then he murmured against her hair:
"Next time… we'll do it in your bed again. Slower. So you can feel every inch while I tell you exactly how much this married body belongs to me now."
Geetanjali shivered in his arms.
"Promise?"
"Promise, Bhabhi."
---
The days blurred into a feverish rhythm after that first night in the kitchen.
Arahan came every evening—sometimes through the back door at 1 a.m., sometimes slipping in at dusk when Amma went to the temple or the neighbor's house for evening chai. The green saree became his favorite signal; she wore it often, nothing underneath, the silk clinging to her sweat-damp skin by the time he arrived.
He fucked her everywhere in the house: bent over the kitchen counter with her saree hiked to her waist, ass stretched around his cock while she bit her own forearm to stay quiet; on the bedroom floor among scattered rose petals, her legs over his shoulders as he pounded her pussy until the bedframe rattled; against the wall in the narrow corridor when time was short, one hand clamped over her mouth while he took her ass in quick, deep strokes.
Every night he claimed both holes—alternating, sometimes filling her pussy first until she came shaking, then flipping her over and sliding into her ass while she was still pulsing from the first orgasm. He loved the way she whimpered when he switched, the way her body learned to open for him faster each time.
"You're mine in every way now, Bhabhi," he'd growl against her ear while buried deep in her ass. "Your husband sends money from the Gulf, your saas prays for your happiness… and here I am, breeding both your holes every single night."
Geetanjali stopped protesting the words. The filth only made her come harder.
But the body remembers what the mind tries to ignore.
Amma began to notice.
At first it was small things: Geetanjali yawning more during morning chores, moving slower when she swept the courtyard, dark circles under her eyes that no amount of kajal could hide.
"You look so tired these days, beti," Amma said one morning while stirring tea. "Are you sleeping properly? Or is the noise from the crackers still keeping you up?"
Geetanjali forced a smile, cheeks warming. "Just… restless nights, Amma. Nothing serious."
Amma's eyes lingered a second too long.
A week later, during lunch, Geetanjali pushed her plate away after two bites. "I'm not hungry today."
Amma frowned. "You used to eat like a horse after Diwali. Something's wrong."
That evening Arahan arrived as usual—back door, green saree waiting. But when he bent her over the bed and slid into her pussy, Geetanjali winced more sharply than usual.
"Too sore?" he asked, pausing mid-thrust.
She shook her head. "No… just… tender. Everywhere."
He slowed anyway, fucked her gently that night—mostly oral, mostly fingers, letting her come on his tongue twice before he finished in her mouth. She swallowed like always, then curled against him, unusually quiet.
The next morning she woke to nausea so violent she barely made it to the bathroom.
She vomited twice—once into the sink, once into the bucket she kept for mopping.
Amma heard the retching.
When Geetanjali emerged pale and shaking, Amma was waiting in the doorway, arms crossed.
"Geetanjali… are you…?"
Geetanjali's heart slammed against her ribs. "It's nothing, Amma. Maybe something I ate."
But Amma's gaze dropped to her daughter-in-law's stomach—flat still, but something in the older woman's expression shifted. Suspicion, worry, and the faintest flicker of hope.
That afternoon Arahan messaged her.
Arahan: Tonight?
Geetanjali stared at the screen, hand trembling over her belly.
Geetanjali: I can't tonight. I'm not feeling well. Vomiting all morning.
His reply came in seconds.
Arahan: Where are you? I'm coming now.
Geetanjali: No—Amma's here. But… I'm scared.
Twenty minutes later Arahan knocked on the front door like a normal neighbor—carrying a bag of fresh oranges "for Amma's health," he said politely.
Amma let him in, smiling at the thoughtful gesture.
Geetanjali appeared from the inner room, pale, eyes red-rimmed.
Arahan took one look at her and his face changed—concern, then quiet determination.
"Geetanjali ji, you look unwell," he said loudly enough for Amma to hear. "I was just going to the clinic nearby for some medicine. Let me take you. It's no trouble."
Amma hesitated—then nodded. "Yes, beta. Go with him. Get checked properly."
The ride to the small private clinic on the edge of the village was silent at first.
Halfway there Arahan reached over and squeezed her hand.
"Whatever it is," he said quietly, "we'll handle it."
At the clinic the doctor—a middle-aged woman who knew half the village—asked routine questions, then sent Geetanjali for a quick urine test.
Ten minutes later she returned with a small smile and a piece of paper.
"Congratulations, Geetanjali ji. You're pregnant. About six weeks, I'd say."
The room tilted.
Geetanjali stared at the report—positive, clear as day.
Arahan stood beside her, face carefully neutral for the doctor's sake, but his hand at the small of her back was trembling slightly.
On the ride home he didn't speak until they were out of sight of the main road.
Then, voice low: "Six weeks… that means it happened right around Diwali."
Geetanjali pressed her palm to her stomach, tears welling.
"It's yours," she whispered. "It has to be. My husband hasn't touched me in over a year."
Arahan pulled the bike to the side of a quiet lane, killing the engine.
He turned to face her fully.
"Then it's ours," he said simply.